


i start work at 1pm so we just fuck around 'til then

by silklace



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:12:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23175913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silklace/pseuds/silklace
Summary: July, 1996. "Come over."
Relationships: Jon Favreau/Tommy Vietor
Comments: 22
Kudos: 54





	i start work at 1pm so we just fuck around 'til then

**Author's Note:**

> this is really a drabble that got out of hand and because i'm a pedantic nerd i like to have all my writing archived on the archive, so here we are
> 
> i blame this entirely on the teen shows I've been using to fling my brain into an alternate reality where you can stand closer than 6 feet next to someone and also do mouth stuff with them
> 
> title from amy shark's blood brothers because that's my vietreau jam and felt especially fitting for a teen/hs-au

“Come over.”

“I can’t, I already told you.” The cord makes a thwinging-sound around his finger. “I’m on babysitting duty.” He can see the face Tommy’s making through the phone. It makes his nose look stupid. “Don’t be an ass.”

“Yeah, well, guess I’ll just fucking die of boredom for the entire summer.” There’s the sound of water parting and then splashing, like the exhale of something, like tension going frizzle hot and crackling along the surface.

Jon’s hand is on his belly, tucked into the waistband of his gym shorts. “Or get a really bad sunburn, probably.”

“True.” Another tiny explosion of water, this time like Tommy’s slapped his palm against the surface of the pool just to feel the sharp smack of his body hitting against something else.

He swallows. “You always miss the back of your neck. Dumbass.”

Tommy makes a soft noise, like he’s breathing out through his nose. “Yeah, well, you always do it for me.”

“I know.”

“Yeah.” A pause and then: “You’re the only who can do it for me, you know.”

“Tommy.”

Tommy’s laughter comes through the phone. “What?” he asks innocently.

“Ass.” He slips his hand out of his shorts, fingers flexing. “My parents get home at like 5:30ish, okay?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “I know, dude.” His voice changes, just a little. Hard to notice, if you hadn’t been noticing everything about him since you were 12 and got paired up in gym class and had to run all your tests alone because your dumb partner kept faking sick so he wouldn’t have to change in the locker rooms. But Jon does. He has. Been noticing. “I’ll be here.”

The sunlight is still sharp as hot oil on the back of his neck, even as the mosquitoes and fireflies start to make their drowsy appearance. He skirts around the back way, hefting himself over the fence gate and ignoring the way it tugs a small rip in the bottom hem of his t-shirt.

He picks up a pebble. It makes a soft clink against Tommy’s window, but Tommy’s there anyways by the time he’s reaching for another. “Hey, asshole.”

He straightens, can’t keep the grin off his face. “Dickhead.” He grabs the window ledge. “Help me up.”

“There’s a door,” Tommy grunts, grabbing him around the shoulder and flank. “There’s like so many doors, and reasons, not to do this - you little - fuck.”

They knock back onto his bed, together, falling after each other. They’re both breathing hard. Jon nudges his nose against Tommy’s chin. He smells like chlorine, and sunshine, and grass. His casted arm lands heavily on Jon’s back, a dull weight. He’s got a pillow crease on his chin, like he’s been waffling between sitting pool-side and glowering at the water he can’t swim in properly and dramatically flinging himself onto his bed for long, summer-hazy naps.

“Yeah, but then I couldn’t do this,” Jon tells him, and fits his mouth against Tommy’s, which opens under him, ready and hot. He’s a little overheated; the AC hasn’t kicked on yet. His cheeks are blushed with heat, his palm almost too-warm on Jon’s hip.

Jon nudges his mouth lower; Tommy makes a noise like he’s been punched. “Or this,” he says, and follows the column of Tommy’s neck, down and then - down, again.

After, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Lets Tommy tug him up against him and shove his hand down his shorts. “Fuck,” he hisses, bottom lip between his teeth.

Tommy’s breath stutters against his throat. “Jon,” he whines. They can’t stop kissing. Tommy’s fist is too warm and a little slick, like he licked it while Jon was wiping at his mouth. Like he’d been waiting to touch him all day and couldn’t wait a minute longer.

“I’m gonna.” His belly tightens. “Tommy, oh shit, I gotta -”

“Jon,” he says again, just like before, all pleading and punched out. Like he can’t stand it. “Come on me. Do it on me, you can -”

“Shit.” His teeth are a notch in his bottom lip. “Shit, shit,” he says, and fucks Tommy’s fist like it’s his own, like when he’s alone at night and remembering the time Tommy put his hand down the back of his pants - how he’d startled and Tommy had breathed a hot laugh, told him, “It’s okay,” and Jon had felt lit up inside, wondering, thinking about it, Tommy on top of him, or him on top of Tommy, maybe, riding him -

He comes on Tommy’s belly, and afterwards Tommy runs his finger through it and brings it to his own mouth. Then does it again and brings it to Jon’s. He licks Tommy’s fingers, then keeps his mouth there a bit longer, until they’re both panting again.

Later, again, Jon elbows up on his forearm and looks at Tommy’s closed-eyed face. His mouth looks - normal, Jon decides. Not happy or sad. Just - how Tommy usually looks. “You hungry?”

Tommy’s nose twitches. He nudges closer, rubs his chin against Jon’s shoulder. “Obviously. Let’s go swimming.”

“Fine. Swimming, then food?” Tommy’s eyes flick open. The sheets are pretty rank at this point. They should definitely get up. “Are your parents home?”

Tommy leverages up. He grabs his t-shirt from the foot of the bed, shoving his head through it. “Nah.”

Jon doesn’t say anything. Tommy folds himself off the bed. His cast hangs limply at his side.

“You coming?” He lobs Jon’s shirt at him.

“Hey.” Jon catches his arm. “I don’t want to go swimming.”

“Fine,” Tommy says, shrugging. “We don’t have to.”

Jon shakes his head. “I wanna go in the pool. I just - don’t want swimming to be what. we do. in there.”

“Oh my god, Jon.” Tommy’s eyes crinkle up. It makes him look like a kid. It makes him look like he’s twenty years older. “You are an actual loser. I can’t believe I hang out with you.”

“Yeah, well, you were the one just begging this loser to - ”

Tommy shoves him, laughing, mouth loose, already running out the door, towards the kitchen, and beyond that the pool.

In twenty years, they’ll be 36. He thumbs at the hole in the bottom of his t-shirt. He can hear Tommy calling for him, running through the too-big house, so he follows. He catches up - grabs Tommy by the waist, launches himself up onto his back.

Tommy holds him up, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! stay safe out there, babes.


End file.
